So it was that, on the occasion of our annual check-up, John had been roped in to help round us up, and we found ourselves sitting in a row of carriers on the back seat of Debbie’s car. I shared my carrier with Eddie and Maisie; to our right, Purdy, Abby and Bella jostled for space; and to our left was a third carrier in which Jasper travelled alone, in bad-tempered isolation. I could make out his shadowy profile through the ventilation holes and, although he was silent, his resentment emanated through the plastic walls between us.
Over the sound of Purdy’s frantic scratching, the occasional squeak of complaint from Abby and Bella as she trod on their tails, and Maisie’s meek mewing behind me, I tried to concentrate on Debbie and John’s conversation. They were talking about Linda.
‘She is starting to do my head in a bit,’ Debbie admitted guiltily.
‘Has she ever left her husband before?’ John asked from the passenger seat.
Debbie shook her head. ‘Never. I thought she had the lifestyle she’d always dreamed of: manicures, personal trainer, skiing trips with her friends.’
John raised his eyebrows. ‘Very nice,’ he remarked in a tone of diplomatic neutrality.
‘Ray’s the finance director for some marketing company in London. Linda used to work for him,’ Debbie explained. ‘He earns a fortune, though I always found him as dull as ditch-water.’
‘Maybe money can’t buy you happiness after all,’ John said sagely, with the merest trace of a smile around his lips.
Debbie tilted her head in agreement. ‘Apparently not.’ She steered the car around a large roundabout, and there was a chorus of scrabbling on the back seat as we all slid sideways inside our carriers.
‘Any kids?’ John asked, once the car had joined the main road.
Debbie shook her head. ‘Only Beau,’ she joked, her eyes glinting as she glanced in the rear-view mirror. ‘They never got round to it. Or at least that was the official version. Who knows what the real story is.’ After a week in Linda’s company, Debbie seemed relieved at being able to talk about her sister.
‘She’s lucky she’s got you,’ John said, turning briefly to face Debbie.
She shrugged. ‘Linda’s got loads of friends, but they’re mostly the wives of Ray’s colleagues. They’re a gossipy bunch, from what I’ve heard. Linda would hate to think that her marital problems are the talk of north London.’ Debbie drove on, concentrating on the road ahead. ‘Sometimes I think I’ve been more of a mum to her than a sister,’ she said, thoughtfully. ‘And since Mum and Dad moved to Spain – well, who else has Linda got . . . ?’ She trailed off, and John didn’t press her any further.
The rest of the journey passed in silence, broken only by the sporadic yowls and mews from the carriers on the back seat.
When John pushed open the surgery door I was immediately assailed by the smell of disinfectant.
‘Good morning,’ the receptionist trilled in a singsong voice, as we were lowered onto the grey linoleum floor.
‘Debbie Walsh. Check-ups for seven cats.’
‘Ah yes, Molly’s Cat Café,’ the receptionist smiled, scanning her computer screen. ‘Quite a job just to get them all here, I bet.’ She grinned, peering over her desk at the three carriers.
‘I’ve got the scars to prove it,’ Debbie replied, holding out her hand to reveal a livid red scratch left by Jasper in his struggle to evade capture.
The receptionist winced in sympathy. ‘Take a seat, the vet won’t be long.’
The young, enthusiastic vet seemed impervious to Jasper’s warning growls, which had risen in volume as soon as we entered the consulting room. ‘Who’s a handsome boy?’ she cooed through the wire door, undeterred by the high-pitched rasp issuing from inside. ‘Come on then, big boy, out you come,’ she coaxed.
‘Sorry, he’s always a bit grumpy when he comes here,’ Debbie apologized.
Unable to lure Jasper out, the vet had no choice but to upend his carrier. There was a scraping sound of claws against smooth plastic, as gravity took its course and Jasper slid out, backwards, on the sheaf of loose newspaper that lined the carrier floor.
On the examination table, Jasper’s hostility was replaced by a look of stoic resolve. He gallantly submitted to the vet’s ministrations, sitting motionless while she looked inside his ears and prised open his mouth to check his teeth, and did not even flinch when she briskly administered an injection between his shoulder blades. ‘Good boy, Jasper! All done!’ she exclaimed, giving him a congratulatory rub around the ears. He slunk back inside his carrier, to stare at her reproachfully through the wire door.
One by one, the kittens and I endured the same procedure. Maisie, whose timidity was never more apparent than at the vet’s, trembled throughout; Abby and Bella clung together so insistently that the vet had to conduct their examinations in tandem; and Eddie was his usual placid self, gazing up trustingly at the vet and purring gratefully when she gave him a treat. Purdy, as usual, treated the whole experience as an adventure, leaping from the examination table to the vet’s worktop, where she strode brazenly across the computer keyboard to sniff at the electronic scales.
Back at the café, Debbie unlocked our carriers and let out a long, relieved sigh. ‘Thank goodness that’s over for another year,’ she said to John, watching Purdy follow Jasper out through the cat flap.
‘I think we’ve earned lunch at the pub, don’t you?’ John replied, brushing Debbie’s fringe tenderly out of her eyes.
‘Now you’re talking,’ said Debbie. ‘I’ll just pop up and tell Linda.’
I followed Debbie upstairs to the hallway, registering the laundry hanging over the radiator and the vacuum cleaner standing amidst Linda’s jumble of shoes. In the living room, the empty mugs and crumb-covered plates were still on the dining table, untouched since breakfast. When I saw Linda dozing on the sofa, with Beau snoring on the cushion beside her and the newspaper strewn messily across the floor, I felt my hackles instinctively rise with annoyance. Judging by Debbie’s sharp intake of breath, I suspected that, had she been a cat, hers would have risen, too.
7
Debbie stood in front of the sofa with her hands on her hips while, behind her, John hovered awkwardly in the doorway. When it became apparent their presence was not enough to wake Linda, Debbie strode forward and began to scoop the sheets of newspaper noisily off the floor.
‘Oh, sorry, I must have dropped off,’ Linda mumbled, pushing herself upright with her elbows and shoving Beau off the cushion with her bare feet. Catching sight of John, Beau barked groggily, but quickly rearranged himself on the rug to continue his nap.
Any relief Debbie might have felt after spending time with John had been short-lived, and the fractiousness she had exhibited earlier returned. With pursed lips and a clenched jaw, she set about tidying the living room.
‘Here, let me help you,’ Linda said, jumping up from the sofa and making for the table, where Debbie had begun to collect the dirty plates and cups.
‘No, it’s fine, thank you,’ she replied testily, before striding out of the room towards the kitchen.
I watched from a distance as John and Linda exchanged an uncomfortable look.
‘I think I’ll take Beau for a walk,’ Linda muttered, pulling on her shoes. ‘Lovely to meet you,’ she said, giving John a friendly peck on the cheek. She picked up the sleeping Beau and carried him, bleary-eyed and disorientated, downstairs.